


Bruised

by ramenree



Series: Bruises and Blood [1]
Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mafia AU, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25303201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenree/pseuds/ramenree
Summary: Zhengting starts his new life having covered up the bruises and scars left by a painful past. He leaves it with even more.
Relationships: Cai Xukun/Zhu Zhengting | Jung Jung, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Bruises and Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832899
Comments: 35
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi.
> 
> a prequel and one year anniversary present to my fic Blood Tinted Sky, though it could potentially be read as a stand-alone. this will be a two-shot, and it'll be focused on zhengkun. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy <3

When Zhengting’s father dragged him into his bedroom, one night, late after work, Zhengting shivered in fear for the beating he was sure to get. 

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry _ , he chanted in his head like a mantra,  _ don’t cry, or he’ll just get madder _ .

He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body tensing. However, instead of a punch or kick, all he felt was a slap across the face.

“Keep your eyes open,” his father grunted, before dumping his body into the corner of the room.

Zhengting opened them, not knowing that what he’d see would plague him for the rest of his life.

His father looked directly at him from where he was standing on the top of a chair, the noose of a thick wire cable hanging from the fan on the ceiling. 

“I hope you know,” he said, very very slowly. Zhengting stared back at him, his muscles frozen with fear. “Zhengting, I hope you know. It’s all your fault.”

He couldn’t even look away when his father hanged himself.

***

The chain of foster homes weren’t much better, but at least they weren’t family.

They all seemed to make that clear to him when he arrived at each one, the stench of tragedy and misery hanging around him like a repugnant cloud: pulled him aside as soon as he had stepped off the car, with nothing in his hands that he owned, and told him that he needed to be on his best behaviour if he wanted to sleep in the house.

Zhengting bit the inside of his cheek and stayed quiet for the inevitable few weeks of his stay. They usually paid him no attention during the day, and he was free to roam as he pleased. However, as soon as the evening approached, and he couldn’t avoid them at dinnertime, they lashed out at him. 

_ Mommy left because of you. Daddy killed himself for you. Nasty, disgusting, insensitive, strange child _ .

Sometimes they hit him, but it was the words that cut deeper.

_ If you weren’t so pretty, I’d have gouged out your eyeballs now. Be fucking glad that we’re letting a whore stay here. You’re not going to amount to anything.  _

And once, at his third foster home, the oldest son of the house crept into his bedroom and folded himself behind him under his covers.

But it was better, better than the days he had spent with his father, wondering where his mother had gone.

At least they weren’t family.

***

When Zhengting finally ran away from the foster home he was staying at-- the last in a long chain of ones that didn’t want him--, he didn’t know how old he was anymore.

Walking along the cold streets of the November city, looking left and right for a scrap of food he could scrounge up, it came to him for the first time that for the first time ever, he was completely and utterly alone. The foster home wouldn’t come find him, he knew; it was a hassle to try to find him again, especially since they never wanted him in the first place. There was no one he knew in the world, and no one who knew him. He was alone, walking on the street, with no one and nowhere to go home to. 

There wasn’t even anything he had that would mark him as someone else’s child, someone else’s friend. Zhengting’s father hadn’t celebrated his birthday, and the foster homes didn’t bother to ask him, so over time, he forgot his birthday. He hadn’t ever been given the opportunity to explore, so he didn’t know what he liked or disliked to do. He didn’t know what he liked to eat, if he was allergic to anything. He didn’t even know how old he was.

He was just Zhu Zhengting, a kid who didn’t know if he could still be called a kid anymore, roaming the streets, alone but  _ free _ for the first time in his entire life. He didn’t know if he appreciated the change.

It wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter anyways. He couldn’t go back, and so, he spent the next few months prowling the city, always moving. He ate what he could find, and slept where there was space. The winter was cold and he almost froze to death, but Zhengting grit his teeth and pushed through it.

Once, he walked along a river and paused to look at himself in the oddly still surface of water. His bruises and cuts had healed, leaving no mark behind, and in all sense, he should have been grateful. 

However, all he could think about was what was lying underneath his skin, that layer of hate and loneliness and anger that bruised him to the core. Those were the memories: uncomfortable and lingering, unable to dissipate, no matter how many times Zhengting woke up in the middle of the night, shivering and near tears from the nightmares.

***

Change came for him in a dark alley.

It was foolish of him to wander into the red-light district, he knew, but Zhengting was cold, and the red-light district was warmer than the other sections of the city. Zhengting went, hoping that he could find the corner he usually slept in when nights were that cold, but instead, almost got himself killed for his efforts.

The thing was that he was pretty: that was something he knew about himself. He was reminded incessantly of the fact in childhood, and, now that he was on the streets, had been catcalled at or groped at too many times to count. However, he hadn’t yet been cornered in a darkened alley, with nowhere to run, a tall man with slurring words walking towards him slowly.

“You’re so pretty,” he slurred, reaching out a hand towards him. Zhengting looked left and right, but saw that there was nothing he could run to, and the cold brick wall on his back told him that he couldn’t turn either.

“Do you want to spend some time with me?” The man was directly in front of him. One of his eyes was mangled and scarred, Zhengting noticed. “You’re very pretty.”

Zhengting shook his head. The man cooed at him. “Don’t be like that.”

He reached a hand out and grabbed Zhengting’s waist. Zhengting squirmed and made a run for it, only to be pulled back. The man’s body was pressed against his side; Zhengting felt sick.

The man moved a hand down his side, and Zhengting opened his mouth to yell. However, before he could do so, the man had his other hand across his mouth, stifling his voice.

Without thinking, he bit down as hard as he could, feeling the skin break under his teeth. 

The man yelled, and Zhengting took the moment to kick him back and make a run for it. However, he didn’t take two steps before the man slammed to the ground. 

He hit the cold, greasy pavement, but before his head could slam to the floor, the man had wrenched it back, his knees pressing Zhengting’s arms and torso down.

“We can’t have that pretty face marred” he heard him purr into his ears. “You’re a fighter. I like that.”

“Let go of me.” Zhengting struggled, but the hands on him tightened.

“Oh no. I can’t do that. I was going to have some fun with you but,” he leaned down so that his face was right beside Zhengting’s, “you’re a better fighter than I was expecting. Do you want a job? I’m going to take you to where I work.”

“Let go of me,” Zhengting repeated.

The man laughed. “Oh no. Don’t have the wrong idea. I’m not going to do anything to you again that’s going to mess up your pretty little face. They would scalp me if I ruined a boy like you. I’m just going to give you to some people you might want to meet. They won’t hurt you either.” He chuckled again. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

Zhengting paused. “Where are you going to take me?”

“A place where they’ll teach you to fight. You’ll be perfect there.”

For a moment, Zhengting thought of fighting back again. There were a group of staggering men at the other end of the alleyway; if he screamed loud enough and twisted hard enough, he might be able to get their attention so that he could run. It was an option, and he could be free again.

_ To do what? _ a voice at the back of his mind asked.  _ Do you have anything to go back to anyways? _

Zhengting could answer that for himself.

***

SM was a cold building with tiled floors and white walls.

There was also an armed guard at each intersection, and boys with knives hacking at each other in the training centers, but Zhengting thought that he could get past that.

There were also boys taking classes in hacking, boys learning how to lie like it was another language, boys bandaging each other after dangerous, high profile missions, the like.

That was what Zhou Yanchen, the devilishly handsome trainee that he roomed with, told him on his first evening there.

“We’re essentially being trained to do the worst,” he said with a grin. He had a cat-like, sunny, happy smile and pretty monolidded eyes. He was also lying on his stomach right beside Zhengting on his bed, despite having his own bed to sleep in. “You’ll get used to it sooner or later.”

“How long have you been here?” Zhengting asked him. He was tired from the day’s events, where he was shuttled from room to room, having soldiers poke at him and examine him from all angles, but he didn’t mind the proximity Yanchen posed as soon as he was dumped in his dormitory.

Yanchen had sprung on him as soon as one of the instructors-- Yixing-- dropped him off in his room, welcoming him to SM with an unexpected hug that cracked Zhengting’s spine. He was handsome, talkative, bright, and hadn’t tried to pry into Zhengting’s past yet. Zhengting didn’t trust him just yet, but he thought that he could like him.

“Oh man. Too many years now. I’m one of the trainees who’s trained the longest here, along with Jie-ge and Ziyi. I guess Kunkun counts too.”

A dark head popped up over the bunk, glaring at them. “Don’t fucking call me Kunkun.” It disappeared a second later.

Cai Xukun, that’s what the boy had introduced himself as before staying silent for the rest of the evening. He was brooding and quiet, Zhengting found within the first few hours of knowing him. He was handsome as well, with large eyes that Zhengting could mark off as innocent if they weren’t so shut off and cold.

“Don’t mind him.  _ Xukun _ is prickly.” Yanchen chuckled, before suddenly being slammed to the ground.

Zhengting gaped as Yanchen got shoved off the bed, just inches away from him, and as Zhu Xingjie, the ghostly pale boy who had asked him to call him Jie-ge, slammed him to the floor. Oddly, he recognized the move as the same move that the soldier he had encountered in the alley had pulled on him.

“Stop bothering Zhengting. Let the boy sleep,” he growled. Yanchen struggled under him for a second before suddenly flipping out under him and pushing Xingjie down. 

_ So that’s how you escape that position _ , Zhengting thought, as Xingjie pinned him down again, this time pulling Yanchen into a headlock. 

“I’m telling him about us!” Yanchen wheezed.

Xingjie rolled his eyes. “You’re just excited that we have a new friend.” He looked at Zhengting. “Tell this idiot that you want to sleep, or else he’ll never leave you alone.”

“Yes, please tell him. I’m so fucking tired, and I can’t sleep when he won’t shut up,” the last member of their dormitory, Wang Ziyi, a tall, muscled boy with braids in his hair that he pulled into a ponytail behind his head, said gently from another bunk. He sat up in his bed, watching the spectacle with exasperated fondness in his eyes. 

Yanchen turned a dramatically tragic face to him and pouted. “All of you are mean. Only Zhengting is nice to me.”

“He won’t be after a week of putting up with you,” Xingjie growled at him again, tightening his chokehold.

Yanchen whined, and Zhengting couldn’t stop the laugh that tumbled out of his mouth. Belatedly, he realized that it was the first time he laughed aloud in months.

“Yanchen is being very helpful,” he supplied. Yanchen beamed, even though his face was turning red from the lack of circulation. Xingjie rolled his eyes.

“You’re nicer than I thought if you’re going to stand up for his bullshit.” Finally, after Yanchen began to tap frantically at his arm, Xingjie released him. Yanchen gasped, panting for a long moment on the ground. Zhengting thought that that was the end of it. However, less than a minute later, Yanchen was back up, now tackling Xingjie to the ground with an animalistic growl. Xingjie, taken off guard, went down with a stream of curses and snarls.

Zhengting looked up and his gaze met Ziyi’s, who shot him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. They do this a lot.”

Zhengting shook his head and smiled. “No, it’s fine. You guys must be close.”

Ziyi didn’t respond, but his fond eyes told him the answer.

Zhengting, watching the tussle on the ground, hearing Yanchen and Xingjie fight and hurl insults at each other, Ziyi watching from the other side, smiling at him every once in a while, thought that he could get used to it. They were good people for taking him in, even though technically, neither he nor they had any say in the matter. However, they were warm and funny and friendly, and they cared about each other, that was evident immediately-- a  _ family _ . Zhengting liked that.

On that thought, he looked up happily at his top bunk, expecting an exasperated, fond expression on Cai Xukun as he watched the events unfurl. However, all he saw was Xukun’s body curled away from them, facing the wall, still and silent as ever.

***

“See that really fucking handsome guy over there?” Yanchen muttered, nodding to the other end of the large training center. Zhengting followed his gesture with his eyes until they fell on a boy with silver hair turned away from them, bending over a display of various knives.

“I can’t see his face, but yeah?”

“That’s Lin Yanjun. The will-be ace of the socialite department. He’s really good at assassination, but he’s so hot, they put him into the socialite department.”

Yanjun turned to throw a knife into the target across the room, and, looking at his perfectly handsome, sultry, angled face, Zhengting could agree on what Yanchen had said.

“What about that guy?” Zhengting pointed his knife in the direction of a tall boy climbing a rope. 

“Zheng Ruibin. He’s good too. Yixing likes to pit him against me.” Yanchen smiled, revealing his row of pearly-white teeth. “I win, most of the time.”

“Stop bragging,” Xingjie chided from the other side of Zhengting. He was polishing his own knife in preparation for the knife-throwing class they were about to take. “Zhengting’s got the point now. You’re so good at hand-to-hand combat. You’re amazing at shooting. You’re a menace, blah blah blah.”

Yanchen glared at him. Wanting to avoid a conflict, Zhengting tugged on his arm and nodded directly outside of the main doors at a spectacle. A boy dressed in green surgical scrubs was walking with brisk steps down the hall, another boy with one long earring and a greasy smile padding after him, chattering incessantly even though his companion was ignoring him.

“That’s Han Mubo and Qin Fen,” Yanchen explained. “Mubo’s one of the best medics we have, and Fen is a soldier. One of the best ones too.”

“Qin Fen’s been trying to chase Mubo ever since they were trainees,” Xingjie commented in a low voice. “But I don’t think chattering after a guy who finds you annoying is the way to do so, even if you  _ do _ have a face like Qin Fen’s.”

Yanchen waved his hand to brush it off. “They’re fucking for sure. You wouldn’t know, you virgin.”

Xingjie glowered at him. Zhengting sighed. 

They continue to bicker as training starts, and Yixing begins to pace up and down their row, adjusting postures and demonstrating the proper technique. Zhengting threw his own knives, missing the majority of them, but managing to land a few solid ones into his target, even if they were horribly lopsided and off-center.

The trainees buzzed amongst themselves, chatting to each other in low voices as they continued to practice their knife throwing. Zhengting managed to catch a few comments from the group to his, Yanchen, and Xingjie’s right.

“How’d he get added to their training group? I thought Yixing was done making the Monster Trainee group?”

“With a face like that, he could have done anything and they’d let him in.” Crude chuckles followed.

Xingjie paused in his bantering with Yanchen, and looked apologetically at Zhengting. Yanchen was less calm.

“Hey, shut the fuck up.” He glowered at the two trainees, who immediately quieted down and turned back to their knives. “You have something to say, you can say it to our faces.”

“Yanchen, it’s okay.” Zhengting fingered one of his sleeves. Yanchen’s face softened as he turned back to him.

“I’m sorry, Zhengting.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He paused. “But Yanchen, thank you.”

  
Yanchen smiled, then returned to hitting the target perfectly each time.

Truth be told, Zhengting himself wasn’t too sure why he was in this specific group either. Yixing told him on the first day that his specific training group-- referring to Yanchen, Xingjie, Ziyi, Xukun, and now him-- was hand-picked by the head of SM, Kim Junmyeon, himself to be polished into the agency’s aces. Zhengting had no idea what the man saw in him apart from what the soldier who approached him in the hall could have told him, but privately, he thought that he was an idiot for doing so.

He couldn’t compare against the other trainees in his dormitory. On the very first day, Xingjie had shown him how to use a gun, shooting perfectly at a target every time he shot, earning not only gapes from Zhengting but also the envious, judgemental look of every other trainee shooting at the time. Yanchen was apparently some prodigy at hand-to-hand combat, easily besting even some of the already matured soldiers that patrolled around the training centers with guns in their hands. 

And Ziyi and Xukun. As if to follow his train of thought, Zhengting heard a commotion coming from the other side of the training center.

He glanced back, careful to not be too obvious lest he receive another berating for not focusing on his own training, and saw that it was what he expected: a fight in the middle of the room.

Fights like these weren’t uncommon, he had quickly learned in his first week at SM. Their hand-to-hand combat instructor liked pitting trainees together every few classes for the purpose of ‘assessment’, though Yanchen informed him that it was more so to scare the rest of them into pushing themselves harder. 

However, what made this fight so different was that for the first time since he had gotten here, it wasn’t anyone Zhengting didn’t know fighting on the stands. It was Xukun and Ziyi.

The two of them stood at opposite ends of the ring, preparing themselves for the fight. Xukun was partly bent over, wrapping his hands with a length of bandage. Ziyi was doing the same, though unlike Xukun, he seemed to be chatting amicably with the other trainees as well. Xukun was stone silent as usual, his face impenetrable and cold, and the only movement he made to acknowledge another was when, having finished wrapping his hands, he straightened and tossed the roll of bandage to Ziyi. Ziyi caught it and threw it down the side before retying his hair into a tighter ponytail.

The trainees around them were bustling around, talking quickly about the impending fight. They made for quite the noise.

Xingjie caught him staring at the spectacle and nudged him lightly. “Don’t be too obvious.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Yanchen looked over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the ring. “Fucking hell. The one time they pit us against each other, and it’s Ziyi and Xukun.” He sniffed. “I wanna join.”

“You sparred around with Ziyi yesterday night, didn’t you?” Zhengting asked, though his eyes were still on the fight. The two had now assumed their positions, Ziyi’s tall, dark form on his right, and Xukun’s leaner, tenser form on the left.

“That doesn’t count. I want a real fight.”

Zhengting watched as their instructor raised an arm, then brought it down in one quick motion. The chatter increased as the match started, all eyes on the two circling boys in the center.

Zhengting had seen both of them fight before, though it was in a more relaxed context, and never an official fight like the one he was about to witness. However, from what he had heard over the week about their skill, he thought he could anticipate a good tussle.

And they didn’t disappoint. After a few more steps of circling around each other, Xukun lunged out at Ziyi, aiming a brutal low swipe at his stomach.

Ziyi blocked it with his arm before turning quickly into a back kick at Xukun’s face, which he dodged. Xukun bent down low and swiped his leg in an arc that Ziyi had to jump over to avoid.

The trainees around them were chattering loudly now, ignoring the glares their instructor shot at them, but Zhengting couldn’t blame them. He was transfixed by the way the two moved, the sheer power they had in each punch and kick.

Xukun turned and aimed a martial arts kick at Ziyi’s shoulder, a move that the boy this time wasn’t fast enough to avoid. His leg collided with his arm, and in the momentary lull of Ziyi staggering back, Xukun lunged forward again and connected his fist with Ziyi’s stomach. 

Zhengting had incessantly heard of the skill and power of the future ace of the entire SM agency-- hell, Yanchen teased Xukun about it almost every night, mocking him as the ace and earning a glower in return--, but he hadn’t expected this.

Even though Ziyi was immensely strong, enough so that it didn’t seem like anything would be able to take him down, it was Xukun who he couldn’t keep his eyes off. He was like a bullet, tearing at Ziyi, moving with speed and aggressiveness so unfitting of his brooding, quiet nature. Something else drew him into him as well, and Zhengting realized that it was  _ want _ .

He wanted to fight like him, like he had nothing else to worry about except for power and force at the tips of his fingers. He wanted to be able to strike back, unafraid of anything in front of him, and only thinking of what to do in the moment. He wanted to be revered and feared until nothing else would dare to cross him.

Xukun took a hard kick and the side and returned it with a punch across the face. There was no expression on his face when he turned again. 

***

Yanchen, Xingjie, and Ziyi turned out to be of great help, even if they did fight amongst each other and kept him up at night when they all ought to be sleeping.

“Raise your arm a little,” Xingjie muttered to him one early morning. They were in the training center, one of the smaller ones since only those were open to them during non-official training hours.

Zhengting followed what he said and shot. Just like Xingjie had suggested, his shot was much more accurate this time around.

“Why do you want to wake up so early for training?” Yanchen whined from where he was lying spread eagle on the floor. “It’s barely four am, and you drag us all to training.”

“I want to get better,” he responded delicately, shooting again. 

Ziyi rolled his eyes, picking up his own gun. “Not everyone is as lazy as you, Zhou Yanchen.”

Yanchen whined even louder in response. Zhengting smiled at him but turned his attention back to his training. He was two months in now, two months worth of training and practicing under his belt. He was getting better. He wasn’t the worst in their classes now, and he could even--

But before he could finish the thought, someone had slammed into his side. His gun went off, scaring Xingjie enough to make him dive to the side, and hitting the wall above his target.

Zhengting’s body immediately kicked into action. Without thinking, he elbowed behind him, hitting the person beside him so hard he groaned in his ear. 

“Zhou Yanchen, I’m gonna fucking--” he hissed, attempting to throw him off him, but Yanchen clung to him, now pinning him to the ground, mouth stretched wide in a grin as he fought him.

Zhengting responded by kneeing him in the crotch, taking the moment to slip out from under his legs and throw his back on Yanchen’s, slamming him to the floor. Yanchen, caught off guard, hit the ground, swore, then twisted free enough to punch Zhengting across the face.

Zhengting fell back, but before he could hit the ground, he was on his feet, aiming a high kick at Yanchen’s cheekbone.

However, before he could make contact, Ziyi had dragged him back, enveloping him in his chest. He stared, unimpressed, down at his now stinging face.

“Don’t you think it’s too early to be fighting?”

Zhengting regained his balance and freed himself from Ziyi’s arms. He glared at Yanchen, who was grinning up at Zhengting from where he was kneeling on the floor. “Tell this fucker before he tries to tackle me while I’m  _ shooting _ .”

Xingjie hit Yanchen heavily on the back of his head. “Yes. You nearly made Zhengting kill me with that stunt, asshole.”

Yanchen sniffed. “Like you wouldn’t have just dodged it.” He grinned at Zhengting. “But hey! Our Zhengting’s improved! It’s been two months of training for you, and you can already fight like that.” He pointed to his own cheek, still grinning dopily. “I haven’t been bruised like that for a while now. Now we have matching injuries.”

Xingjie rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s probably stupid now after he hit his head after you flipped him.” However, his eyes quickly focused on Zhengting’s face again, his expression more serious. “But he’s right, Zhengting. Two months and you nearly took some of Yanchen’s teeth out.”

Zhengting paused, then said slowly, “I guess all that extra training paid off.”

Ziyi hummed. “That’s not all of it though.” He put a hand on Zhengting’s shoulder, smiling gently down at him. “Your fighting style, where did you learn that?”

“Yeah. Who the hell taught you how to fight like that?” Yanchen caught the ice bag that Xingjie tossed to him and pressed it to his cheek. 

“Like what?” Zhengting caught his own bag and brought it to the stinging bruise on his face.

“Like you’re a fucking snake or something.” 

“Snake?”

“You fight differently from the rest of us,” Xingjie explained carefully, still glaring at Yanchen. “When we show you how to fight, we do what we’re taught, which is to fight with aggression and power. There are variations, yeah; take this asshole here.” He nudged Yanchen with his shoe. “He fights the same rough way the rest of us do, just much faster and stronger.”

“But none of us fight like you,” Ziyi continued on from beside him. “You look… you look like you’re dancing.”

Zhengting looked around at them. “Dancing?”

“Flexible. Soft. Precise.” Xingjie pointed to Yanchen’s cheek. “Your fighting bruised him in the perfect place, and if Ziyi hadn’t stopped you, you’d have kicked him perfectly in the chin too.” He whistled. “You should keep that. The other trainees won’t shut up about it if you do.”

Zhengting had thought that he wasn’t improving, not when he trained by himself late into the night and couldn’t, for the life of him, imitate the same aggressive, powerful moves that Xukun had used in that one fight against Ziyi. Even though he asked Yanchen and Xingjie and Ziyi to show him time and time again, he couldn’t make himself nearly as strong or aggressive as he wanted.

Hearing compliments about his ‘fighting style’, whatever ‘soft, flexible’ form he was using, Zhengting initially felt proud, though once the feeling was gone, only bitterness remained.

He wanted to protect himself. To be strong so that nothing would hurt him again. He hadn’t started training to become soft, no matter how unique and powerful the others said he might.

“You should show Xukun when he finally comes to training later.” Yanchen chuckled and began picking himself off the ground.

Zhengting paused.

In the two months that he had been at SM, he had grown closer to the members of his training group, practicing, eating, joking, sleeping, and training together. It was the closest that he had ever grown to any other person, much less people. Something even told him for once that he  _ belonged _ .

But Cai Xukun, the boy who had stuttered out an introduction to Zhengting with his large, piercing eyes and lean form, and who had shown to Zhengting what real power looked like, hadn’t been one of them. Instead, he seemed to avoid him, not looking, much less talking, to him during the day, and crawling back into the bunk above his and sleeping when evening came. If he wasn’t doing either of them, he was at another training center, farther away from their dorm, practicing on his own.

“Xukun likes to be alone during training,” Ziyi had explained to him when Zhengting wondered what Xukun was always doing. “Don’t mind him. He’ll come around.”

Zhengting wasn’t sure if he would. Xukun behaved to him the way all of his parents and foster families and companions had, like there was something repugnant and evil hanging around him that no one in their right minds could touch. When, for once in his life, he felt like he was fitting into somewhere, Xukun’s coldness was especially stinging: a reminder of the layer of grime and bruises and hurt under his skin that he would never be able to wash away.

***

_ Why am I even doing this? _ he caught himself wondering many, many times. The thought came to him at random moments: at lunch, during shooting practice, during manipulation classes.

But most frequently, they came to him when it was late at night, and he was the only one left in the training center. They came when, drenched with sweat, he forced himself to crawl for another boxing session, another stretch, another kicking practice. In those moments, Zhengting would stop for a sliver of a second and wonder what exactly it was that pushed him to work this hard. 

He asked himself, but no answer apart from the same mantra of protecting himself seemed to bubble up, so he continued to fight. And he got better.

***

It was an entire five months after he entered SM that change came again for him.

This time, he was stretching in one of the practice rooms, after a long evening of throwing knives at a target. His arms burned, but satisfaction hung in his mind at the improvement he had seen in himself. He could hit the target just about every time now.

Then suddenly, the door to the small training room creaked open. Zhengting looked up, expecting to see one of the soldiers, mouth already shaped in an apology for staying for so long.

However, the words died in his mouth when he saw the quiet form in the doorway.

Xukun stared at him, almost as if he was stunned to find him in there, though more thinking told Zhengting that he must have known he was in there before. His large eyes pierced into him, his hand tight on the door. Zhengting glanced up at his head, only to see that his hair was pulled into a tiny ponytail at the top of his head. 

Zhengting smiled, fighting the urge to laugh.

“...you’re still here?” Xukun finally said, after another very long, stilted pause. Zhengting hadn’t heard him speak apart from the usual snaps or growls he tossed around at their instructors or at the rest of their roommates when they were being too loud for his taste. He had a rather cute voice, he thought, all soft and clear and quiet.

“Extra training.” Zhengting nodded at how he was stretching.

“But it’s late.”

Zhengting smiled again. “That didn’t prevent you from coming here either.”

He seemed to take him off guard. After another long pause, in which Zhengting wasn’t sure whether the boy would back out or snap at him, Xukun stepped in and shut the door behind him.

_ He probably wants to train _ , he thought to himself, watching Xukun as he looked left and right, as if he was looking for something. On that thought, Zhengting began to climb to his feet.  _ You better leave him alone. _

However, before he could clamber up, Xukun’s voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“Do you…” Xukun paused, then started again. “If you’re not too tired… do you want to stay behind and spar with me?” He was standing in front of him, his arms straight and tense at his side, looking down at him with a face of closely guarded expression.

“You’re asking me?” Zhengting asked incredulously, stupidly. There was no one else in the room, he knew, and Xukun was looking at nothing else but him. But the months of near radio-silence from the boy, despite being in the same training group as him and quite literally sleeping in the bunk above him, made him blurt it out.

“...yes.” Xukun was biting the inside of his cheek, Zhengting could tell. “Do you not want to?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” He climbed to his feet, talking quickly. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Xukun didn’t respond to this, but instead paced to the other end of the room, where the basket of bandages were lying for hand-to-hand combat. Zhengting trailed after him, already panicking.

“Oh, I don’t know if you want me to help you with  _ that _ ,” he spluttered. “I’m not very good at fighting yet. You’d crush me.”

Xukun had no response to this either. He reached into the basket and retrieved two rolls of tape before tossing one of them to Zhengting. Zhengting, feeling foolish, caught it and began to wrap his hands without another word.

They worked in silence, and when Zhengting had finally finished wrapping his hands in a thin layer of gauze, he looked up and found that Xukun was surveying him silently, his hands already wrapped and clenched in fists by his side. His eyes were piercing into him.

Zhengting cleared his throat. “Should we start?”

Xukun nodded slowly.

They faced each other, beginning to move in a slow circle around each other. Xukun already had his hands up in a fighting stance, and Zhengting moved to mirror him, aware of the silence permeating the air around them.

Then, without warning, Xukun lunged out, aiming a punch directly at his face that just a month ago would have knocked Zhengting out in the first move. However, he caught it just in time and ducked out of the way before aiming a kick at his side.

He felt it even before he could make contact with Xukun. It was an odd feeling, as if he knew exactly what Xukun was going to do even before the boy could do it himself. He also knew, for some inexplicable reason, that Xukun could feel it as well, that sensation of connection, of unity, of  _ fit _ .

Xukun bent out of the way and responded with his own spinning kick at Zhengting’s side. Zhengting moved out of the way and flipped to a side before lunging at him again.

The feeling surged when they fought again. Zhengting could see clearly now what Yanchen had meant when he said that he fought differently from the rest of them. Pitted against the person who had mastered the sheer force and aggression expected from a trainee of his caliber, Zhengting could tell how his fighting style was a stark contrast to it. His moves were longer, with less power but more precision, fast arches in contrast with Xukun’s short bursts of power.

He almost missed the sensation when finally, Xukun caught his arm mid-punch and twisted it behind his back. Zhengting gritted his teeth and tried to wrench himself free, but Xukun was too strong. He stumbled, Xukun’s fingers immediately closing around his other wrist.

Then, his voice was by his ear. “I could break your arm right now. It wouldn’t take much either.”

His voice sent a shiver down his spine, though he didn’t think that it was one of fear. “Okay.”

Xukun seemed taken aback, his face dropping the stony mask for a fraction of a second before quickly composing itself again. “You’re not scared?”

He supposed that he should have been. After all, there was no one in the entire agency who wasn’t afraid of the icy, deadly skilled prodigy who could best even some of their instructors if he was pushed to do so. However, all Zhengting felt was the hot breath by his ear and the remnants of the elation he had felt during their fight. “No. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Xukun paused for another long moment. Zhengting breathed in and out, wondering if he said the wrong thing and if he should be making a trip to see Mubo for a broken arm. However, finally, Xukun released him, making him stumble forward and wince at the sudden shift in position.

“You fight well,” Xukun said to him as Zhengting rolled his shoulder and winced again. He didn’t reveal anything else on his face; there was no indication that he had even heard Zhengting.

“It’s different, they like to tell me.”

“I know,” Xukun answered, surprising him. He didn’t know that Xukun paid anymore attention to him than some new boy who slept in the bunk under his. “The trainees like to compare us.”

He must have seen Zhengting’s stunned expression, because he followed up quickly with, “They like to talk about how different you fight compared to me.” He shifted his feet awkwardly, looking down. “They like to gossip about if you’ll be better than me in a few months.”

Zhengting didn’t expect that either. While he knew that he was climbing ranks and getting better, and that more and more whispers seemed to follow him wherever he went, it was another thing altogether to be directly compared against the ace of the entire agency.

“Why would they think that?” he asked, hazedly. 

Xukun peered at him. “You’re a good fighter, I said. If you listen more to the people around you, you’ll see that they agree as well.” He paused, then said softer, “I like the way you fight.”

Then, before Zhengting could decipher what he meant, he turned and began to walk quickly towards the door.

“Wait!” Zhengting blurted out, stumbling forward.

Xukun stopped and turned to look at him.

Zhengting raised his hand and pointed at it. “Your bandages.” An inexplicable feeling of foolishness flowed through him as he did so.

Xukun glanced at his hands and, realizing that he hadn’t unwrapped them yet, he pulled at the end of the bandage and unwrapped them in one long motion. Then, he tossed the bandage into the trash can and nodded at him.

“Did you only come to fight me that one time?” Zhengting couldn’t help but ask.

Red bloomed across Xukun’s cheeks. He seemed oddly stuck, not knowing how to respond to Zhengting’s question. He was so different from the usual, stony faced fighter that Zhengting felt himself flush as well.

“...we should spar together some other time,” Xukun finally said, very slowly. He looked away from Zhengting, as if embarrassed of asking.

“Okay.” Zhengting began to pick at his own bandages, unsure of what to do. There was an odd silence, and he didn’t know  _ what _ he was feeling. “Let’s go back to the dorms.”

Xukun peered at him, his fists tightening, and nodded. 

***

And like that, Cai Xukun went from staying away from him entirely to inserting himself quietly into his life.

When they returned to the dormitories together-- Zhengting having spent the trip back talking aimlessly to make up for Xukun’s preferred silence--, Xukun didn’t say much more before washing up and climbing into his bed. Then again, he thought, everyone else was asleep, and there was nothing else to be said anyways.

But the next day, when Zhengting woke up early to go to extra morning practice, instead of any combination of Xingjie, Yanchen, and Ziyi waiting for him, he found that it was Xukun who was awake and peering at him as he leaned against a wall.

“... good morning.” He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and furrowed his brows to check that it really was Xukun who was staring at him.

Xukun nodded in response.

“Why haven’t you gone to training?” Zhengting asked blearily. Through his sleep-addled mind, he recalled that Xukun liked to train on his own at a farther training center.

Xukun shook his head. “I’ll come with you today.”

Zhengting was very quickly awake after that. He sat up, blinking hard, and attempted to smooth down his hair, to no avail. 

Then, at the training center, Xukun joined him at the shooting range, firing his own shots at the targets on the other side of the room. He followed him silently as Zhengting walked to the treadmills for a run and didn’t say much except to ask him what speed he usually preferred. It was a little uncomfortable, having a person who hadn’t even tried to talk to him suddenly follow him wherever he went, but for the most part, all Zhengting could do was wonder why Xukun was doing this.

And he continued to do so. Instead of going who knew where for breakfast, he joined him, Yanchen, Xingjie, and Ziyi for breakfast that morning. The others raised an eyebrow at Zhengting when they saw who he was bringing in tow, but Xukun ignored them and began to spoon congee into his mouth.

“Damn, Kunkun’s finally decided to rejoin us?” Yanchen poked at him, biting into a meat bun.

Xukun shot him a withering glare, and Yanchen had the presence of mind to shut up. Zhengting couldn’t help but smile though.

Then, during training, he was there as well. Not every moment: for the most part, he continued to train quietly and by himself, not talking to anyone. But every once in a while, Zhengting would be startled by a quiet voice by his ear.

“Hold the knife lower when you throw it.”

“Turn your foot out. You might hurt your leg.”

“These guns have a really strong recoil. Don’t hurt your shoulder.”

The other trainees stared at then, whispering amongst each other, no doubt wondering why Cai Xukun, the icy ace of SM who never talked to anyone during training, was suddenly talking to Zhengting. No, not only talking. He helped Zhengting with his training as well, raising his arms or legs up, his fingers pressing into his skin.

But just as frequently, he was gone, suddenly going back to his own training as if he had realized what he had done. Zhengting learned to leave him alone then, and to expect him to pop in again when he started practicing something else. Xukun was a presence right behind him, always watching when he didn’t think Zhengting could see him, always coming back.

***

“I think Kunkun wants to fuck you,” Yanchen said matter-of-factly one day at lunch. Zhengting choked on his rice and glared at him.

“Shut the fuck up. He’s gonna hear you,” he hissed, pointing with his chopsticks to where Xukun was picking up his own food, just a few meters away from them.

“But it’s true,” Yanchen continued on without abandon, shamelessly grinning at a newer trainee who had ventured close to their table. “I’ve never seen him pay as much attention to anyone as he has to you. It’s even better cause he thinks he’s being sneaky with how he’s always watching you.”

Zhengting glared at him. “Or maybe he’s just a kind person and wants to help me improve.”

Yanchen popped a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “Whatever you say.”

Xingjie and Ziyi joined them then, setting their own trays down. “What are you guys talking about?” Ziyi asked, already digging into his chicken.

“Kunkun wants to fu--” Yanchen’s sentence was muffled by Zhengting slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Another word and I’ll gut you with my chopsticks.”

“Why are we gutting Yanchen?” A voice sounded out from behind him. 

Zhengting swivelled his head around to see Xukun standing directly behind him, his food on his hands, and  _ amusement _ painted across his face. 

Seeing Xukun actually smiling was rare, so Zhengting had the mind to sneak an extra look of the upward curve of his lips before he realized what compromising position he was in. 

He tore his hand away from Yanchen’s mouth, though he kept his chopsticks still pressed into his stomach, and spluttered, “Nothing much. Yanchen is being ridiculous as usual.”

“Why don’t you tell Kunkun how I’m being ridiculous.” Yanchen plucked the chopsticks out of Zhengting’s hand and sighed. “I knew it was a mistake to teach you this trick.”

“I thought I was the one who taught Zhengting the chopstick trick.” Xukun furrowed his brows and frowned, the smile unfortunately disappearing from his face.

Yanchen turned to Zhengting in glee, and Zhengting sighed.

“Just come sit down and eat. Ignore this idiot here.”

This time, when Xukun sat down beside him, quickly reverting back to his usual quiet self, Zhengting felt the brush of his arm against his. He wondered if it was normal that his skin felt like it was burning when he pulled away.

When they finished lunch, Zhengting mentally checked himself for what training he’d have to go to next. 

“Hand-to-hand combat,” he declared. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

Xingjie peered at him over his bowl of rice. “Man, you should have told me that you were going to fight after lunch. I would have done shooting in the morning instead and joined you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be with Zhengting!” Yanchen happily raised a hand for a high-five, but Ziyi pulled it back down. 

“You go to the hand-to-hand combat class so much, I swear you’ve forgotten everything else  _ except _ for how to fight.” Ziyi flicked Yanchen on the head. “You’re going to come with me to manipulation. We haven’t gone there in a while.”

Yanchen whined, and Zhengting felt a surge of fondness for the boy. “Let’s fight this evening, Yanchen. I can go alone for the class.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Zhengting watched Yanchen’s eyes widen before realizing that the low, quiet voice by his side was addressed to him. He turned and stared at Xukun.

“Sorry?”

“I need to practice my… hand-to-hand combat as well.” He looked uncomfortable, but covered it by drinking the rest of his soy milk.

“Oh, okay.” Zhengting paused. It was silly for him to feel so startled by Xukun’s offer-- they went to training together all the time--, but it was the first time Xukun had openly voiced that he wanted to join him in training. To join  _ anyone _ in training, really. 

To confirm that he had heard him right, Zhengting glanced to his right and saw that the rest of their training group looked just as surprised as he felt. Ziyi was biting the inside of one of his cheeks, his brows raised high.

Zhengting swallowed and stood, picking up his tray. “Then, let’s go then. I usually like to get there early.” His words were coming faster than usual, he noticed.

Xukun silently copied him, looking at him expectantly. 

“Uh, I’ll see you guys at dinner.” Zhengting nodded at the rest of them, trying to convey with his eyes his state of bewilderment. The same looks were returned to him, save for Yanchen, who now wore a smug look of satisfaction. Zhengting made to flip him off discreetly when he left.

“So… what do you want to practice today?” Zhengting asked awkwardly as, minutes later, they found themselves walking the distance that led to the large central training center. Xukun was pacing directly beside him, his fists still clenched.

Xukun didn’t respond.

“Kicks? Because that’s what I need to practice. I need to work on my left leg. It’s a lot worse than my right kicks.” He laughed, peering at Xukun out of the corner of his eye.

Xukun didn’t say anything still.

Zhengting felt a prickle of annoyance at the back of his neck.  _ Why ask to come with me if you’re not even going to talk to me? _

He picked up his pace, wanting to get to the training center faster, where everyone talked amongst each other and where he didn’t have to tread so carefully around his stupidly quiet roommate.

“Kicks.” Xukun’s voice conveniently floated into his ear. Zhengting stared at him. Xukun rubbed the back of his necks, then said, even quieter. “I need to practice my kicks too.”

_ You could have said that earlier _ , he thought, but he didn’t stop himself from smiling anyways. “We can practice them together.”

Xukun peered at him once before turning away again.

Zhengting apparently chose a good day to come to hand-to-hand combat, because the center was teeming with trainees, stretching and wrapping their hands with bandages. The chatter was loud, but it quieted down when him and Xukun came in. Zhengting was used to this by now: Yixing’s hand-picked Monster Trainee group always created a small stir, not to mention that the actual ace was walking right beside him.

Zhengting looked around and saw that some familiar faces stood out to him. Lin Yanjun, the handsome silver-haired trainee that Yanchen had pointed out to him time and time again, was leaning against a wall. Zhengting had shared a handful of classes with him before, and his chest swelled with anticipation of possibly getting the chance to fight him again. However, unlike usual, there was a small, black-haired boy standing right next to him, staring at him and Xukun with large, slightly slanted eyes.

Before he could stop himself, he nudged Xukun. “Who’s that boy standing beside Lin Yanjun?”

Xukun peered around him. “The cute one?”

_ Oh, you think he’s cute too. _ Zhengting didn’t think that Xukun was someone who even noticed things like appearances. “Yeah. With black hair.”

“I heard some of the trainees talk about him. He’s pretty new. Yanjun likes him.”

Zhengting raised his eyebrows. “He’s very young, though.”

Xukun looked at him, unimpressed. It was a good look, different from his usual stony mask. “Likes him as in he’s taken him under his wing.”

“Oh.” Zhengting watched as Yanjun ruffled the boy’s hair, muttering something into his ear. He hoped that it wasn’t about him. “Socialite then.”

Xukun didn’t answer, but instead, threw him a roll of bandages. “Class is going to start soon.”

Class was a blur. Zhengting wrapped his hands and took his position at the mat he usually practiced on. Yixing swept into the room, surveying them to see if they had started practicing yet. Zhengting began to kick at a punching bag hung up beside him.

Beside him, he could see Xukun doing the same, assuming the same position as he kicked at his own bag. He could also see some of the nearby trainees watch them, whispering amongst each other. It was an odd sight for sure, he thought. Xukun rarely trained in hand-to-hand combat when there were this many people.

An hour later, when his muscles ached with the force of his training, and he thought that he wouldn’t ever hear anything else except for the incessant buzzing in his mind, he finally heard Yixing call for them to reconvene in the middle.

Yixing watched them all as they made their way to the center ring. “Excellent training, all of you. I see improvements.” He gestured to the ring. “Now, is there anyone who’d like to demonstrate all that they’ve learned for us?”

Chatter immediately broke out. Zhengting glanced at Xukun, who hadn’t moved an inch since Yixing started talking. He glanced at Yanjun and his friend as well, only to see that Yanjun was again saying something in the boy’s ear. The boy was nodding.

Then, a voice shot up. “Yixing, sir. I would.”

Zhengting turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw it belonged to Mu Ziyang, one of the better trainees in the bodyguard and defense department. He was extremely tall, with an ear pierced full of metal.

“Excellent.” Yixing looked pleased. “Ziyang, please come into the center.”

Ziyang did so, winking cheerily to his cheering group of friends. 

“Who would you like to fight?” Yixing asked him once he reached him. This was a part of hand-to-hand combat: one person would volunteer, and the person they chose to fight would be forced to do so as well.

Ziyang surveyed the crowd. Some of the other trainees were hooting at him, yelling at him to take them on. Zhengting, from the back of the crowd, was quiet.

Then suddenly, Ziyang was staring right at him, a wry grin on his face as he shouted, “Zhu Zhengting, come fight me!”

Everyone turned to him. Zhengting swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Xukun was staring at him.

He hadn’t been chosen for a large, central fight before. All he had fought in before were smaller affairs, with only a few trainees watching him after practice. Most of his real fighting was done in training, being a little too new to be challenged. It was surprising that Mu Ziyang, one of the more esteemed trainees, would select  _ him _ and not Xukun or Yanjun from the crowd. Then again, he thought, to ask either of them was asking for death.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his back. “Go for it.” Xukun’s voice was quiet by his ear.

Slowly, with all eyes on him, Zhengting made his way to the center. Yixing clapped him on the back, smiling.

“Both fighters, please take your positions.”

Zhengting turned and faced the center. Ziyang was on the other side of the ring, grinning good-naturedly at him. But if he looked a little past him, he could see that Xukun was moving in, his eyes boring into Zhengting’s. Zhengting swallowed.

“Begin!”

They began to move in a circle around each other. The other trainees were talking amongst each other, shouting at them to make a move. Many of Ziyang’s friends-- a group of extremely tall bodyguards-- were cheering for Ziyang.

“First time being called in the center, huh?” Ziyang raised a teasing eyebrow.

Zhengting smiled. “Thank you for that.”

“Don’t thank me when I’m about to bash your pretty little face in.”

“You should be careful about saying that.” And with that, Zhengting sprang forward, aiming a high kick at the side of his head.

Ziyang blocked it with his arm, defense training kicking in, and swung around to punch him in the stomach. Zhengting flipped out of the way, aiming the same kick at him as soon as his feet grazed the ground.

The trainees exploded with volume, cheering, yelling for them to fight. Ziyang wasn’t as fast and took the kick in his back before grabbing at Zhengting's leg. 

_ Defense technique _ , Zhengting thought vaguely,  _ he’s a bodyguard. What did Yanchen say about bodyguards? _

_ They’re really fucking durable _ , Yanchen’s voice came filtering through his mind.  _ They’ll be able to take more hits than you, so you’re gonna have to play smart. _

So as Ziyang tried to tackle him, Zhengting dove forward, sending both of them slamming to the ground. 

Ziyang hit the ground hard, making their audience gasp, and Zhengting was on him in a second, straddling him and punching him hard across the face. Ziyang took it and turned them to the side. He rose up and punched Zhengting back, who gritted his teeth and twisted over him, so that he was pinning Ziyang under his body again.

The trainees were cheering loudly again. Zhengting locked an arm around Ziyang’s throat, cutting off his airflow. Ziyang gasped, stumbling forward on his knees, before throwing him back in an attempt to slam Zhengting to the ground. Zhengting was expecting it, however, and he dug his feet into the ground just in time to prevent another tumble.

He was ready when Ziyang finally twisted free from him. In a flash second, he turned and kicked him hard across the face, sending him sprawling. 

Ziyang staggered back, clutching his face, but Zhengting was faster and he lunged towards him again, aiming a punch at the man’s face. 

“Stop!” Yixing’s voice froze him. Zhengting stopped, his fist centimeters away from Ziyang’s, and turned to look at their instructor. “The winner of this match: Zhu Zhengting.”

The crowd erupted, some cheering, some booing. Zhengting straightened, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him, and turned awkwardly back to where Ziyang was still clutching at his head.

“You alright?” he asked gingerly. He wasn’t sure what to do now that the match was over.

Ziyang groaned. “You kick so fucking hard. Good match, Zhu Zhengting. You were better than I expected.”

One of Ziyang’s friends was jeering at him, yelling something about Ziyang not losing to someone as skinny as he was. Ziyang groaned even louder as he flipped out of the ring, ready to make his way to the hospital wing.

The audience was all talking about him now.

“Damn, I heard the rumours, but I didn’t think he’d be this good.”

“How the fuck did he take down Ziyang when he’s only been here for a few months?”

“Do you think he’s better than Cai Xukun now?”

At the sound of that, Zhengting looked around and saw that Xukun was looking at him expectantly, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He wanted to grin back, caught up in the moment of fighting and victory, but thought better of it and looked back towards Yixing. 

“Zhu Zhengting,” Yixing was saying. “Who would you like to fight next?”

Zhengting looked around. The crowd went silent, peering at him, all wondering who Zhengting would choose to fight next. A few of them smiled at him. Some sent him taunting smirks. Some glowered. Some turned away.

Who was he going to choose? Zhengting surveyed the crowd again, flickering over all of their faces. There was Yanjun, who he had lost to in a smaller match two months ago. He could ask him if it came to that, but something inside him told him no.

Instead, he found his eyes straying to Xukun, and before he could stop himself, he was blurting out, “Cai Xukun.”

Xukun’s eyes flashed. The audience erupted with chatter, parting so that Xukun had a direct route to the center. Zhengting didn’t tear his eyes away from Xukun’s as he made his way up.

“Excellent. Fighters, assume your positions,” Yixing declared. He looked at both of them, amusement in his eyes. Two Monster Trainees fighting was always something to watch, especially when one of them was the literal ace.

Xukun didn’t say anything to him as he walked to the other side of the ring. Zhengting wiped sweat off his brow, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from him. Hot exhilaration was pulsing through him, something that burned even brighter inside of him than his fight against Ziyang just moments ago. The bruise on his face was beginning to form, making stinging pains race through his head, but it was the glare of Xukun’s eyes into his that was making his entire skin feel like it was on fire.

“Begin!” 

Perhaps Zhengting was foolish for choosing Xukun to be his partner. After all, he was the one who had marked choosing the ace during a large, public fight to be an incredibly stupid move. However, it didn’t stop the anticipation from rushing through him, 

_ We should spar together some other time _ , Cai Xukun had said to him after their first fight, a few weeks earlier. Zhengting had taken him up on that offer, practicing his combat against him if at night, it was again just him and Xukun in the small training rooms. But those were more restrained, moreso so that Xukun could guide him and practice with him. They weren’t free, dangerous battles like the one he had just erupted between them.

Zhengting made the first move this time, lunging forward with a punch at Xukun’s temple. Xukun ducked down low, which Zhengting had expected, and punched him solidly in the stomach. Zhengting grit his teeth, but used the opportunity to knee up and kick Xukun hard in the jaw.

The audience was buzzing even louder than his fight against Ziyang, screaming at both of them and to each other about the fight. Zhengting aimed another kick at the side of Xukun’s head. Xukun caught it, slamming his body into Zhengting’s abdomen, and turned hard so that he flipped Zhengting hard onto the ground.

Zhengting felt that same feeling again, that strange feeling of connectedness, of fluidity that he had only felt in that first fight against Xukun. He hit the ground so hard he thought he could see stars, but somehow knew that Xukun was going to punch him, moving his head away just in time so that Xukun punched the ground underneath instead. It was like they were moving together, their bodies knowing what was coming next, their blood on fire as they kicked and lunged and punched at each other.

Zhengting swung his legs up and locked them around Xukun’s torso, bringing the boy slamming to the ground. The audience screamed. But before he could pin him down, Xukun put his hands on Zhengting’s leg and shoved it above him, making him lose his balance. Zhengting was flipped onto the ground again, his arms going up to defend himself against Xukun’s punch as Xukun’s knee dug into his chest, but, inexplicably, he felt his lips tug up into a smile. Xukun punched his arm and pulled back for another one, but Zhengting could see suddenly that he had the ghost of a smile around his mouth as well.

But then, suddenly, the weight on his chest was gone, and Zhengting twisted his head to a side to see Xukun suddenly mounting the edges of the ring, leaping over it and into the ground. The crowd gasped. Zhengting pulled himself up, confusement rushing through him, and saw Xukun launch himself to a tall, buff trainee, slamming him to the ground.

Yixing yelled for them to stop, but Xukun wasn’t listening. In front of everyone, he punched the boy solidly across the face. The boy was yelling, trying to force him off him, but Xukun caged his torso down with his knees and just punched him again.

“Stop, Xukun!” Yixing roared again. He made a brash movement, as if he was going to stop the fight himself, then stopped. “The match is over! Stop!”

Xukun punched him again. One of the boy’s friends was rushing forward, trying to pull Xukun off him, swearing at him at the top of his voice. Xukun elbowed him in the face so hard he fell back to the ground and resumed beating the shit out of the poor, unfortunate trainee pinned under him.

_ He’s going to kill him _ , Zhengting thought, the fire from before seeping out of him, icy cold dread replacing it. Then, without thinking, he lunged over the edge and sprinted for the small fight that had broken out.

He grabbed Xukun’s arm as it raised to punch the boy again, his other arm pulling Xukun’s chest back. “Stop, Xukun! You’re going to kill him!”

Xukun twisted his fist out of Zhengting’s hand. He was biting his lip, his face reverted back to his usual stony expression, ice in his eyes so unlike the cracks of warmth that he had shown Zhengting so far.

“Stop, Xukun. Stop,” Zhengting tried again. He wasn’t sure what would happen to them both. Would Xukun be penalized for fighting someone he wasn’t authorized to fight? His stomach clenched.

Xukun paused mid-punch. The boy was whimpering under him, his arms thrown over his face. Zhengting could see blood sticking to them though, trickling down his face and cutting through a myriad of bruises.

Yixing walked to the edge of the ring and paused for a long moment. Zhengting held his breath, his fingers digging into Xukun’s wrist.

“Get him to the hospital wing,” Yixing finally snapped. 

Zhengting breathed. He tore Xukun off of the boy so that his friends could carry him out. Xukun didn’t stop glaring at him as he left.

There was a moment of silence. Zhengting was aware of all the eyes on him again, staring at Xukun’s angry panting face and how Zhengting had him pulled back into his own chest. He swallowed.

Yixing paced in a circle, annoyance painting his features. He snapped at all of them, “Class is dismissed for the day.” He turned towards Zhengting and Xukun, “And Cai Xukun. If you fight another unauthorized fight, I’ll personally break every bone in your body.” He paused. His expression softened as he glanced at Zhengting. “Good work today, Zhengting.”

He turned and stepped off the ring after a final glare at the rest of the trainees, who immediately cowered and scattered. Zhengting was left tugging Xukun into his chest, his heart still pounding.

The first thing he recognized was that Xukun’s wrist was still in his grip, and that he still had an arm pressed across his chest, pulling him into his own. Zhengting flushed and let go of him, scurrying back.

Xukun lowered his arms and rubbed at his wrist. He raised an eyebrow at Zhengting, as if he was confused at why Zhengting would react this way.

“... don’t do that again,” Zhengting said in defense. He clenched his hands together, feeling his face flush even more. “You could have killed him.”

Xukun didn’t say anything, but instead continued to stare at him. His face was stony again, and Zhengting was reminded that less than five minutes ago, Xukun had been pinning him to the ground, straddling him as he pressed Zhengting down underneath him. He flushed even more.

Dropping his gaze, Zhengting’s eyes fell on Xukun’s fists. They were raw and bloody, the aftereffects of two fights. Zhengting reached for them.

Xukun immediately retracted them, his entire body tensing up. He stared at Zhengting.

“You’re hurt,” Zhengting explained.  _ You were straddling me just a few moments ago. You don’t need to be shy _ .

Xukun looked at his hand, how there were small trickles of blood seeping from the raw flesh. Zhengting got up and held out a hand to him.

“Come on. We need to get you some bandages.”

Xukun took it with his bad hand, smearing Zhengting’s fingers with red. 

Some of the remaining trainees were buzzing around about them, muttering amongst each other as they stared at them. Some of them were asking each other why Xukun had suddenly leapt at the trainee, a question that Zhengting had yet to find out. From his perspective, he hadn’t seen or heard anything that would have warranted a beating like the one Xukun gave him.

But some of them were murmuring to each other about Zhengting and Xukun’s fight. As he had expected, he heard many of them wondering who would have won the fight if they continued, another question Zhengting didn’t have an answer to. Frankly, he hadn’t expected to even last that long against Xukun, but once they had begun fighting, it was like fire was pulsing through his veins, making him focus on nothing but the feeling of connection they shared and the pump of his heartbeat as he fought.

Then a few more were commenting on Zhengting’s fighting style. He was used to this by now; the other trainees were prone to stare at him or try to mimic his moves when he fought or trained, intrigued by his fluidity, agility, and speed. Zhengting had stopped trying to copy the aggression the rest of them had on the day Xukun and he had fought and Xukun had complimented him on his style. However, the contrast was still there, like ice against fire.

Zhengting ignored them and led them to a corner of the center. Xukun raised a questioning eyebrow at him as Zhengting sat him down on a stool.

“They won’t patch you up for a knuckle wound,” he explained. “Mubo told me that during the day, they mostly only fix the people who get more severe injuries, like the guy you beat the shit out of and Ziyang.” He sniffed. “And we should get you to stop bleeding anyways.”

Xukun was silent as he watched Zhengting kneel down in front of him. Zhengting took his injured hand and peered at it closely. The knuckles were busted raw, still seeping blood through the bandages. He pulled at an edge and began to unravel it as carefully as he could.

“Why did you even fight him anyway?” Zhengting asked him, still peering at his hand. “It wasn’t an authorized fight and you know it.”

Xukun was silent for a long moment, and Zhengting sighed. He should have expected a lack of answer.

However, he was surprised when he heard Xukun’s voice resonate from above him, low and ginger. “He was talking shit about you.”

Zhengting let his hands freeze. He looked up to see that Xukun was wearing an expression that he might have interpreted as stony, but in close proximity and in the heat of the moment, he saw that Xukun was just a bit bashful, his cheeks tinted with pink.

“What?”

“He was saying that you must have gotten better because you were sleeping with someone.”

Zhengting raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Like who?”

“Yanchen, mainly. But Ziyi, Xingjie, and me too. He said that you only got this good because you were fucking them to get them to help you with training.”

“Oh,” Zhengting dropped his head, returning to unwrapping Xukun’s hand. He ought to have expected this: not many people knew that he trained morning and night to improve, and he could see why they might think that, with how Yanchen and the rest of them helped him so much with improving. Still, the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, one that reminded him of the scathing words the people of his childhood had lashed upon him. 

He was quiet when he unwrapped Xukun’s hand, balled up the bandage, and threw it into the trash can. He was quiet as well when he retrieved a bottle of medicinal ethanol and began to dab some of it onto Xukun’s wounds. When everything was feeling so good-- all the exhilaration and happiness at improvement, the results of months of hard work and the idea of a new beginning-- the boy’s supposed words seemed to plunge him back into a tub of ice. Zhengting bit the corner of his lip as he swiped ethanol over a raw spot. He hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks now, but with how he was feeling in the moment, he was afraid that they might lurk into his dreams tonight again.

But then, he felt a soft pressure on his cheek. Zhengting looked up to see that Xukun was cupping his face in his other hand, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. His expression was carefully guarded, but just soft enough to make Zhengting think that the feeling Cai Xukun had was  _ concern _ .

Then suddenly, he felt his heart clench on himself, throbbing with feeling as he looked Xukun in the eye. It hurt in the best way possible, so tenderly and so acutely. 

Unconsciously, he leaned into his touch. But as soon as he pressed his cheek into the palm of Xukun’s hand, Xukun seemed to realize what he had done. A shiver ran through him, Zhengting could feel, and quicker than a whip, Xukun pulled his hand back, his face twisting back into his usual stony mask.

Zhengting’s heart throbbed. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks, by the way, for standing up for me.”

Xukun nodded slightly. His cheeks were dusted pink, but he still stared at him, large eyes boring into his own.

Zhengting returned to bandaging Xukun’s hand, his chest blooming with an inexplicable warmth that he hadn’t felt before. 

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok im a fool.
> 
> i know i said that this would come out in a week, but i had a hard time writing it and it took a little longer than that. im sorry.
> 
> i also said that this would be a two-shot. haha no.
> 
> i hope that you enjoy this chapter anyways! it was a really hard one to write.

In the weeks that followed, Xukun continued to appear in Zhengting’s life, a shadow trailing behind him wherever he went.

In the mornings, Zhengting now woke up with Cai Xukun either leaning against the wall or sitting at the edge of his upper bunk, waiting patiently for Zhengting to wake up to go to early morning training together. He learned to stop wondering why the boy would wait for him instead of wake him up as he suggested at first and to accept the large eyes peering at him and his nest of bed hair as normal. 

Morning training was the same. They trained together in the same small training center, punching, kicking, shooting, running, stretching, fighting. Sometimes Xingjie joined them. Sometimes Ziyi did too. Sometimes Yanchen did, but that was becoming more rare with how lazy the boy proclaimed he was to get up in the mornings. But most of the time, it was just Zhengting and Xukun in the training center, running laps around the room, their sweat dripping onto the ground. 

Zhengting didn’t mind that. Training was good with Xukun. The boy made him feel like he was pushing himself harder, with how dedicated and focused at each task he gave himself. He was also a good teacher, correcting and giving suggestions to help Zhengting improve. But most importantly, Zhengting continued to feel a sense of connection to the boy whenever they fought, a feeling that made him feel strong. It didn’t come to him often, but sometimes, when he was gripping Xukun’s arm as they practiced their hand-to-hand combat, the same feeling he had felt during his public fight with the boy in class surged into him, hot and fluid and powerful. 

But that wasn’t the only reason why Zhengting felt drawn into the boy.

Ever since Xukun had pounced on the trainee who had purportedly been slandering him during class, and more specifically, ever since Zhengting had bandaged Xukun’s hands after the fight, a wall seemed to have been lowered between them. While before Xukun kept his distance, flitting away from him as if burned by Zhengting’s presence, the boy now seemed less reluctant to open himself up to him. He talked more to him now, though it was mostly about training and what their friends did each day, and instead of locking himself up after training to go straight to bed, he sometimes spent time with the rest of their roommates.

“Did you guys see that really buff, hot guy in the tech department?” Yanchen moaned one evening after training. He was lying spread eagle on Zhengting’s bed as usual, his face mashed into the pillow. Zhengting hit the back of his head from where he was sitting against the wall.

“I don’t want to hear another word about some cute guy you see in training.” He sniffed. “You made Ziyi and I listen to you all of lunch today about Chen Linong.”

“Okay, but the only reason I was talking about Linong was cause _everyone_ is talking about him now. This kid, on the other hand, is _crazy_ cute. Like, I’d hit that cute.” He turned on his side and pouted at Zhengting. 

Zhengting rolled his eyes. “Fine. What’s his name.”

Yanchen suddenly darted out and grabbed Zhengting’s hand. He held it to his chest, wailing, “Will you pinky-promise that you won’t tell?”

Zhengting snatched his hand back in disgust. “You do this every time. You’d think that you’d learn by now that I don’t have anyone to tell other than these kids.” He gestured around the room, where Ziyi was sitting across from them on Xingjie’s bed, looking like he was struggling not to laugh, and where Xukun was leaning against the ladder to Ziyi’s bunk bed, looking disgusted. “And you’re so loud they’re going to hear anyways.”

Yanchen sighed. “Well, Xingjie’s showering, so at least he won’t tell you.” He grinned. “Dong Jeffrey. Have you seen him around?”

Zhengting frowned. “No. Ziyi, have you heard of him?” He looked towards Ziyi for help. Ziyi usually knew people.

Ziyi thought about it for a moment and scrunched up his eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure he’s one of the best techies here, but I haven’t really talked to him before.”

Yanchen moaned louder. “Who knew the tech department had a stud like that? I thought all techies were nerds.”

“There can be hot nerds.” Zhengting tried to shove Yanchen off him. “And you need to calm down. You find a new hot guy to moan about every two days.”

“It’s not my fault that everyone in SM is hot.”

“No, but it’s your fault that you can’t keep it in your pants like the rest of us.” Zhengting shoved him hard, making Yanchen tumble onto the ground.

Yanchen, ever agile, climbed up as soon as he hit the floor and pounced on him, pinning to the bed. He wore an expression of devilish delight on his face. “Like the rest of us? Care to divulge who’s exactly caught the beautiful, infamously unapproachable Zhu Zhengting’s eye?” He smirked down at him. 

Zhengting kneed him and flipped them over. He was getting better at getting out from bad situations, and this was one of them. “Not you, for sure.”

Yanchen barely had time to look wounded when bright, tumbling laughter emanated from the other side of the room. Zhengting turned and saw that Xukun was bent over, laughing so hard that for a moment, it was like he was a different person from the usual stony ace during training. His cheeks were red and his eyes were scrunched up into crescents. 

Zhengting felt his heart skip a beat.

He continued to stare at Xukun laughing, the beginnings of a smile creeping on his own face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yanchen grinning at him.

***

“There are Cai Xukun and Zhu Zhengting.”

“Are you going to challenge them today during duels?”

“And get my ass whooped? Fuck no.”

“I wanna see how I do against Xukun now though.”

“I’ll take Zhengting then. Hit two birds with one stone: a good fight _and_ a close up of his face.”

The trainees muttered around them as they stretched in preparation for combat class that day. By now, Zhengting was used to talk like this about him and Xukun, who had somehow become his de facto partner in training ever since their fight. His improvement was clear now to the other trainees, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear him and Xukun’s names appear in one sentence. 

He glanced over at Xukun, who was stretching his arms. Xukun raised an eyebrow back, a look of questioning on his face.

_He must have not heard_ , Zhengting decided. He smiled and shook his head at him. “Nothing. I was just thinking of who we’ll get to fight today.”

“They won’t ask you to fight after what you did to that poor socialite last time.”

Zhengting pouted. “What was I supposed to do? Go easy on him, when he was the one who challenged me?”

Xukun smiled (he was doing that more and more, to Zhengting’s great pleasure). “Hence why they won’t challenge you again.”

Then suddenly, he reached directly above Zhengting’s eyes. Zhengting felt his heart beat pick up as the boy flicked at something caught in his hair.

“Dust,” Xukun commented idly, then pulled his hand back quickly and assumed the stance he usually had during training. But he wasn’t fast enough. Zhengting had seen the soft Xukun for a second, the one he was slowly uncovering, bit by bit. 

It was the Xukun who got him a carton of soy milk when Zhengting had forgotten to grab his own during breakfast. It was the Xukun who hid an instant ice pack in his jacket and handed it to him without a word after Zhengting was done fighting. It was the Xukun who touched his arm with the tips of his fingers when he wanted to get his attention, gently as if he was afraid Zhengting was break under his hands. 

It was the Xukun who ignored the stares of the trainees around them and quietly sat down in front of Zhengting after the fight that day, waiting patiently for Zhengting to unscrew the jar of the bruising cream at the station in the corner of the training center. Zhengting hadn’t been asked to fight that day in the end, but Xukun did, and though Xukun took his opponent down in a matter of minutes, he still sustained a bruise to the jaw that Zhengting couldn’t help but wince at when he began to rub ointment into his skin.

Even now, months later, Zhengting still felt his skin burn wherever he touched Cai Xukun. However, he could ignore it better now, especially when he was too busy trying not to look at how Xukun was staring intensely at him each time they settled down to patch each other up after training, his gaze a heavy heat along his face: tantalizing and powerful.

***

Ziyi and Xukun were the closest out of all of them; Zhengting knew that.

They seemed to have their own allotted time for each other, when they went to lift weights or shoot guns or do whatever else they seemed to enjoy in each other company. Ziyi was solemn and kind, Zhengting realized very soon, and he seemed to make Xukun brighter than the stony, icy person he liked to be. 

So whenever the two of them disappeared to do whatever they did, Zhengting found himself in the company of Xingjie and Yanchen, a sort of mediator to balance out the chaos they brought.

“You have a big head,” Yanchen observed one evening, staring at Xingjie tinkering with some metal box he got from the techies.

Xingjie glared at him. “You have a big mouth.”

Yanchen grinned sleazily. “I also have a big--”

“Do you ever shut up?” Xingjie growled. He tugged at a wire jutting out of the side of the box. “We could do with some peace and quiet around here.”

“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that.”

Xingjie glared at him once before turning pleading eyes to Zhengting. “Beat him up for me, please.”

Zhengting moved to follow up. Yanchen put his hands over his face and scowled.

“I can’t believe that I thought you would be kind to me, Zhengting.”

“I can’t believe that I thought you were tolerable,” he retorted. 

“The only reason why you hate me now is because I’m not your favourite anymore.” Yanchen sniffed. “Kunkun’s dethroned me.”

Zhengting almost dropped the pillow he was moving to smother Yanchen with. “What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Yanchen slipped out from under Zhengting and retreated to Xingjie. Xingjie put down his box and tried to shrug him off, to no avail, though, like Yanchen, he also had a smirk on his face when he looked in Zhengting’s direction. 

“I don’t.”

“Try saying that when your face isn’t this red.”

Zhengting felt his cheeks heat up, and, in desperation, looked towards Xingjie for help.

Xingjie, to his chagrin, did nothing but drag his chair closer to him and smile ominously. “Seriously, Zhengting. You can tell us the truth. What’s up with you and Xukun?”

“Nothing. He’s the same as the rest of you guys.” Zhengting tried to back up a bit.

“Then why are you guys always looking at each other when you don’t think the other is looking?” Yanchen countered. “I’ve never seen anything as disgusting as you guys sneaking looks at each other.”

“Sneaking looks…?” Zhengting murmured faintly. Cai Xukun, sneaking looks at him?

A childish feeling of delight spread throughout his chest, one that he squashed down as firmly as possible.

“I don’t even know how you managed to crack Xukun like that,” Xingjie went on. “You know, he’s never paid much attention to anyone but you.”

“We live in the same dorm,” Zhengting looked away, his cheeks still aflame. “I’m the same as the rest of you.”

Yanchen snorted. “Kunkun’s never brought _me_ an ice pack after fighting, and he’s never bandaged _my_ hands.”

That was true, Zhengting knew. It was something he noticed very quickly, the special treatment he seemed to get from the boy. 

Seeing the lost expression on his face, Xingjie’s excited features softened. “We’re just joking around with you, Zhengting. But it’s true that for the rest of us, it looks like there’s something going on between you guys. We’re not uncomfortable with it or anything. We were just curious on if you knew about it as well?”

There was a feeling bubbling at Zhengting’s stomach, something dangerously warm and happy and light that for a second threatened to wash over him. Zhengting felt almost foolishly happy at what Xingjie was telling him, and for a second, he was tempted to admit it. That there was something that drew him into the boy like nothing else had ever in his life.

But another feeling lingered in him. Zhengting could almost hear the sound of his mother’s laughter-- the only memory left he had of her--, could almost see the snap of his father’s neck as he hung himself. He saw the cold dinner tables of all the homes that came after that, and the abandoned corner he slept on the street. 

He swallowed.

The room felt colder all of a sudden.

“No. There’s nothing,” he told them, then shook his head lightly and smiled. “I just think he’s interesting. That’s all.”

“Well, keep doing whatever you’re doing. Because I haven’t seen Kunkun happier.” Yanchen strode over and rubbed his head, his expression suddenly reserved. “I’m going to go shower.”

Xingjie was left staring at him. Zhengting stared back until he couldn’t bear it. _Just moments ago you were teasing me_. “What’s wrong?”

Xingjie shook his head. “Nothing.” He went back to tinkering with his box, then seemed to think better of it. “You can tell us anything, okay?”

Zhengting nodded, a lump in his throat so wrong when compared with the happy days he had had for so long now.

***

_Keep your eyes open._

_I’d have gouged your eyes out._

_It’s all your fault._

Zhengting woke up with a jolt. 

The first thing he registered was the cold sweat gathering on his back. It clung to the t-shirt he slung on before bed, heavy and uncomfortable.

Zhengting shifted in bed, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Belatedly, he realized that he was shaking.

He hadn’t had a nightmare in so long now, he almost forgot what they were like.

Slowly, he pushed himself up. The blankets were suffocating him, it felt, and the fact that his heart was racing, throbbing under his skin, wasn’t helping.

He leaned against the wall, trying to forget the images in his head by registering what was around him.

It was sometime in the very early morning, he thought. One? Two? Something along those lines, if how dark it was was something to go off of. Yanchen was snoring gently from his single bed in his corner, his face mushed into his pillow. Xingjie was lying flat on his back, also deep asleep. And though he couldn’t make him out as well, he could see Ziyi’s back turned towards him, rising and falling with his deep breathing.

What did they dream of? he wondered. He hadn’t told any of them yet about his past, and frankly, he didn’t want to. How could he, when he couldn’t even think of his past without shivering himself awake in the middle of the night every once in a while? How could he tell them, when he was finally feeling at place for the first time in his life?

Did they have nightmares as well? What had each of them gone through in their own lives? None of them had gone into detail yet about their own lives before SM, though Zhengting knew the basic facts. Yanchen was an orphan on the street, much like himself, before being brought to SM years ago. Xingjie, something along those lines as well. Ziyi was the only one different, having quite literally been the son of an SM agent, and thus having spent most of his life in the same hallways. That much he knew, and that much he shared with them as well. When Yanchen asked him about his past on the first night, he had said simply that he lived on the streets before, unable to say anything more. Like him, did they have secrets that they never wanted to see the light of day? Were there things that plagued them wherever they went, like a layer of dust they couldn’t scrub off?

Zhengting shivered. He was still shaking, letting out a tumbling, careful exhale in an effort to calm himself down.

Then suddenly, a head popped over the edge of the bed.

Xukun peered down at him, or at least, Zhengting thought he did in the dark room. His hands were braced along the side of his bunk as he leaned over, and if Zhengting looked hard, he could see that his eyes were wide when they looked at Zhengting.

“Are you okay?” Xukun asked. His voice was very soft.

“Yeah,” he breathed back. He didn’t want Xukun-- anyone-- to know that all it took was a couple of nightmares to reduce him to the shaking mess he was now. “Go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up--”

“Zhengting,” Xukun interrupted, more firmly now. Zhengting stopped, stared back at him. He could see that Xukun’s eyes were large and solemn, stern almost, but at the same time, gentle. “Are you okay?”

Something about how sure his tone was, how certain he was that Zhengting was, in fact, not okay, and something about the underlying tenderness in it, made Zhengting swallow. “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Zhengting shook his head. “No.”

“Okay.” Xukun hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether or not he should continue to ask. Zhengting dug his fingers into his blanket and waited. His hands were still shaking.

Then finally, Xukun whispered, very, very quietly, “Do you want me to come down?”

Zhengting stared. Xukun was someone who didn’t even like to be touched, most of the time. Was he really offering to come down to his bed?

The last time Zhengting slept with someone else in his bed was that night the oldest son of the foster family he was staying at forced himself on top of him, and since then, he couldn’t bring himself to allow anyone else to get near him at night. However, there was that same strange sense of surety, of tenderness in how Xukun was looking at him, that made him nod.

Xukun slung himself off the side without another word and perched on the side of the bed. He looked at Zhengting’s shaking body sitting up against the wall and didn’t say anything else. 

Instead, he reached a hand out and laid it on his arm. Zhengting could feel the heat from his skin spread from the place he was touching into the rest of his body, and a shiver passed through his spine in contrast to his shaking. He leaned into it, much like the way he had leaned into Xukun’s palm that time the boy had touched his cheek when he was bandaging his knuckles.

Xukun pulled him in then, rested Zhengting’s head in his own chest. Zhengting reached a shaking hand over and draped it over his stomach.

They sat like that without a word until morning. Until Zhengting stopped shaking and he could hear Xukun’s heart thump steadily under his chest, tumbling one after another: steady, strong, safe.

***

They fell into a pattern.

Zhengting would fall asleep most days, only to be woken up by the same nightmares of abandonment and pain, shaking himself awake with a gasp and trying to stop the trembling all throughout his body. Xukun was always there then, somehow always awake when Zhengting needed him, waiting to climb down and tuck himself in beside him. 

Then, in the mornings, Zhengting would awake to the same pair of arms still wrapped around him, the same place that he had draped them around them in the night, firm and warm. Curiously, whenever this happened, it was always Zhengting who woke up first, and it was him who spent a few minutes just looking at Xukun’s sleeping face.

Xukun had a nice face, he observed one morning. It was nicely planed, with high cheekbones and a sharp chin and a firm jaw. However, there was softness too: in his cheeks, his nose, his lips. They blended together in a way that was soft yet hard, gentle yet lean. His expression was the same. Though his face was relaxed and gentle in slumber, his eyes were not. Xukun slept with his brows furrowed, his eyes shut but tense. 

Zhengting wondered what Xukun dreamed about each night; he didn’t seem to wake from nightmares like he did, but he didn’t seem like he slept peacefully either. 

Finally, Xukun stirred, shifting slightly, though his arms remained firm around Zhengting’s chest. Zhengting realized that his hand was still draped over Xukun’s abdomen and retreated it hastily.

For some reason, he was always embarrassed in the mornings, no matter how firmly he had clung to Xukun the night before, trying to stop the nightmares. He didn’t move his head away from Xukun’s chest though, instead, waiting patiently until Xukun woke up completely.

Xukun stirred again, then opened his eyes. He blinked blearily at Zhengting for a few seconds before closing them again. Zhengting smiled.

Xukun opened his eyes again, waiting for them to adjust to the dimly lit morning. The others were still sleeping. Zhengting watched Xukun wake up with the trace of a smile on his lips; Xukun’s lashes were very long.

“Did you sleep well?” he whispered, when he thought Xukun was more awake.

Xukun thought for a moment before turning on his side to face Zhengting more. His arms shifted under Zhengting, and he allowed them to slip away from his shoulders so that they were resting by his neck instead.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “You?”

_I woke up from a nightmare and didn’t sleep half the night, but you know that_. Zhengting smiled. “Afterwards, yeah.”

“Good.” Xukun retreated his arms and pushed himself up. Zhengting felt strangely empty when they left him. “Training?”

Zhengting nodded.

***

The weeks passed, and soon, Zhengting found himself at the top of the bunch, on par with the trainees that were regarded the best-- Yanchen, Ziyi, Xingjie, Yanjun, Xukun, just to name a few.

When he realized it, it wasn’t because he had noticed it himself. It was because people began to talk amongst each other about who would be chosen as the official Ace of their class. Yixing had announced that evaluations were approaching, and that he would be selecting the best of the best as their top incoming agents. It was a frenzied time, filled with extra training and harsh competition, whispers and snarls and challenges thrown everywhere he went.

Zhengting tried not to engage in the fierce competition between the trainees in the days leading up to evaluations. He didn’t want to cause any trouble, but more importantly, he didn’t want Xukun to have to beat the shit out of any more trainees.

Though he probably needn’t have worried. No other trainees had tried to touch him after Xukun had sent that one boy to the medical wing. He hadn’t come back since, and no one else tried to touch him, a fact that he was relieved for. But what he exchanged for it was hordes of whispers and gossip being thrown around him everywhere he went, everyone talking amongst himself of who Zhu Zhengting actually was.

“I don’t understand why they gossip so much about how good each other are,” Zhengting commented one afternoon, just a few days before evaluations. “You’d think that they’d focus on training.” He threw the knife clenched in his hand into the target across the room, smiling privately when it sunk solidly into the surface, just barely off target. He was throwing knives with Ziyi and Xukun that afternoon, Xingjie and Yanchen having been occupied with shooting next door.

Xukun threw his knife right beside him without a word, but Ziyi turned to him, surprise on his face.

“Do you not know why they do?” he threw a knife under his arm. It hit, but it was off-target.

“No?” Zhengting frowned. “What’s the point of talking so much when it’s not us doing the evaluating?”

Grimness washed over Ziyi’s face so suddenly that Zhengting was almost taken aback. Ziyi wasn’t one to be so upset so abruptly. “Xukun, you didn’t tell him?”

Zhengting turned and saw Xukun throw another knife, his face indicating nothing that he had heard anything Ziyi had said. 

Ziyi sighed. “Zhengting, they talk because evaluations aren’t just to figure out who are the best of the bunch. They happen because they need to cut people as well.”

“Cut people?” He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Ziyi seemed to be struggling for words. He looked away, his face setting into an expression of defeat as he threw another knife into the target with more force than usual. Finally, he sighed. “They cut the trainees they don’t deem useful or skilled enough, and they leave SM.”

“Leave SM?” he repeated faintly. A pool of dread was building up at the pit of his stomach at Ziyi’s careful tone; he didn’t want to hear what Ziyi was about to say next.

“They kill them.” Ziyi turned away from him again. “They can’t afford to let them go after they’ve seen how SM works, and since they always need to bring in new talent, they just kill them. So that’s why they talk so much; they want to see if they’ll be able to survive the next evaluations.” He stopped throwing and turned back to Zhengting, concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

“... yeah. Thanks for asking,” he answered a moment later. He vaguely registered that he was shaking again, and shook himself hard to stop himself.

So that was what happened to the few trainees that disappeared every once in a while. That was what happened to the trainees who got too injured and didn’t come back, to the boy Xukun had sent to the hospital wing for talking bad about Zhengting. 

He glanced at Xukun. The boy was still throwing knives, but by the tight expression on his face, Zhengting thought he could tell that Xukun knew this. Everyone knew this.

“Did you know this?” he asked him anyway. _Did you know that beating that kid up for me would kill him?_

Xukun didn’t answer, but Zhengting knew the answer already.

Coldness seeped into his entire body, even more chilling than the feeling he had when Ziyi first told him of what evaluations were actually for. It was strange, as he remembered that this was what he signed up for when he was first brought into SM’s white tiled building; he was an assassin in training now. Killing was what he was molding himself for. There was nothing else.

But why did he still feel so cold?

He thought about this all throughout knife throwing, silence having settled over them. Ziyi and Xukun seemed to want to allow Zhengting to take the information in for himself, which he did, locking it away like a storm into a bottle. He had always been good at hiding his emotions.

But when Xukun turned towards him, and said, with soft, sad eyes, “Hand-to-hand combat?”, he nodded anyways. He faltered for a moment, wondering if he could ask him whether or not he _really_ knew, what it could have meant. But in the end, he just clenched his fists tight and followed him out into the central training center.

Their instructors had made hand-to-hand exhibition fighting mandatory each evening now. Zhengting had thought of it as a simple weighing of one against another, but now, it seemed much more sinister than he originally believed.

The training center was full and buzzing when they arrived. Most of the trainees in their class were gathered there, all of the kids that Zhengting had gotten to know over the past months. They glanced his direction when they came in, but like everything else, Zhengting was used to it now.

The same faces stood out to him as usual. Mu Ziyang-- the boy he had fought in his first public duel-- grinned at him as he slung an arm around his friend Yue Minghui. Lin Yanjun, his hair still silver and just as handsome as usual, nodded as well. Zhengting nodded back, and smiled at the boy who was always with him. Chen Linong was taller than when Zhengting had first seen him, stronger, deadlier now from what gossip the other trainees threw around. He was cuter too: Yanchen could confirm that.

And speaking of Yanchen. He waved at them when they spied them coming in, and tugged on Xingjie’s arm to join them, saying good-bye to Zheng Ruibin in the process. He slung a heavy arm around Zhengting’s shoulders when he got close enough.

“Ready to get beat up?” he asked cheerfully. He reached out an arm and whacked Xukun’s arm, earning a deep scowl. “What about you? Are you ready for me to beat the shit out of you?”

Zhengting mustered up a smile at Yanchen’s excited face. _Did you know as well that these evaluations are a death sentence for a dozen or more young, desperate agents?_ “I’ll take you out first, so don’t bet on it.”

Xingjie pulled Yanchen off of him. “Calm down. Everyone is staring at you.” He grinned at Zhengting, but his smile quickly disappeared. Zhengting realized what expression he must have had on and quickly corrected himself. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just a bit tired,” he lied. He saw Xingjie look at Ziyi then, understanding settling into his face. He glanced back at Zhengting, saw whatever stiff expression he forced himself into, and let his rest. Zhengting didn’t want to talk about it anymore, not when he was about to fight.

But out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Xukun was watching him, his eyes boring holes into the side of his face.

“Come on, let’s head to the center.” Ziyi began to make his way to where the trainees were all clustering together around the ring. “I want to be able to see.”

Zhengting did too, but not for the same reason as he thought Ziyi did.

The fights themselves were exciting as usual, but a few stuck out in Zhengting’s mind. Xingjie challenged Yanjun, and Yanjun won narrowly, jamming the back end of a blade at Xingjie’s neck and stopping millimeters away before he could slice into skin. And Linong fought another trainee Zhengting couldn’t remember the name off-- all he knew was that he was very good-- and surprise everyone when he won easily. Zhengting himself couldn’t remember the boy becoming this good, but glanced at Yanjun icing his cheek and decided that Yanjun had something to do with it.

The trainees themselves cheered and snarled at each other, their excitement even louder now that it was the week before actual evaluations. They jeered and they challenged each other and they shot glances at each other; Zhengting wondered how many of them weren’t sure whether or not they would survive the next evaluations.

But then, Xukun was fighting, and Zhengting barely had time to wish him good luck before he was leaping into the ring against his opponent, his muscles flexing in anticipation. Yanchen cheered and immediately after leered at Zhengting to see his response; Zhengting kept his face carefully expressionless.

Xukun won, of course. He didn’t doubt that. But he was still surprised when Xukun straightened after finishing off the trainee who had challenged him, didn’t wait for Yixing to ask him who to fight next, and looked straight at Zhengting, the ghost of a smile forming at his mouth. 

“Zhengting,” he called. “Come up and fight me.”

His voice was light, almost playful. Zhengting heard it over the series of whispers and gasps that suddenly erupted around him, and he kept his face neutral despite the odd clench he felt inside of him. Xukun was still smiling at him, but in Zhengting’s eyes, he seemed urgent, almost pleading. Zhengting wondered if Xukun had sensed the internal conflict Zhengting had; something told him that he did.

_Do you know that this fight will just be a mockery to the kids who won’t survive past evaluations?_ Zhengting wanted to ask him. He didn’t.

Instead, he slowly joined him in the center of the ring. 

“Zhu Zhengting again.” Yixing whistled. He tossed a blade at Zhengting. For a brief moment, even he looked sorry.

_How do you feel,_ Zhengting wondered _, knowing that a portion of the students you teach are going to die in a week?_

Zhengting caught it and faced Xukun again. The boy was unwrapping his knuckles, shucking the bloodied strips of bandage onto the ground. He turned, his own knife still clenched in his hand. He was no longer smirking. Instead, a hard look was reflected back at him: urgent, taunting, _challenging_.

And all of a sudden, Zhengting knew that Xukun had, in fact, sensed the turmoil brewing inside of him. With the way he was almost asking him for a fight, it was like Xukun had the blade in his hand tucked under his chin, his voice in his ear.

_Are you going to fight?_

Zhengting did.

When he fought Xukun this time, he could feel the difference. Punches, kicks, swings, flips: Zhengting really had improved. He could feel Xukun pressing against him with actual force this time, and judging from the cheers of the crowd gathered below, he knew that they too knew that Zhengting really did get better.

He could feel the sensation of power flowing through him, that numbingly addicting feeling he had each time he fought Xukun like this, with skin and sweat and grit. They were connected; perhaps it was because of all the training with the boy, or maybe it was just because it was Xukun. Zhengting didn’t know why he felt so fucking _powerful_ when he fought Xukun, like nothing could hurt him again.

However at the same time, it was different. As Zhengting ducked under Xukun’s kick, he couldn’t help but glimpse past him at the faces in the crowd below. Expressions of awe, jealousy, surprise stared at him, but so did fear, rage, hate. Hopelessness.

_I’m a symbol of hopelessness_ , he realized slowly. Xukun spun around and kicked back behind him, and Zhengting grabbed his leg to swing him down, though he knew in the instant his hand connected around his thigh that it wouldn’t be enough. All of a sudden, it was like his limbs were weighed down with lead, something horrible clawing its way out of his chest.

Those faces. The desolations reflected back to him. What had Zhengting become to see those faces looking back at him?

He had wanted to become strong, but now that he was, was it all just to remind others of their own misery? 

Xukun flipped over him, twisting out of Zhengting’s grip, and as soon as he hit the ground, he turned and kicked Zhengting in the back of the head. Zhengting fell forward, but before he could slam into the ground, Xukun had yanked his hair back so that his neck was exposed, and had his knife pressed against his jugular.

The crowd was silent.

Zhengting was completely still, staring up at Xukun’s eyes. He could feel the cold metal against his neck.

“Tap out.” Xukun’s voice was hot in his ear. The knife dug into his neck deeper, and Xukun looked down at him as if he was daring Zhengting to do it.

Zhengting stared up at him. 

If he tapped out, it would be the end of it all. All the eyes on him: they would disappear, move on. They would stop whispering about him the way they did now, like he was a prodigy of something he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to do anymore. They would stop comparing him to Xukun. He would stop being a symbol of losing hope; he would be just like the rest of them.

Zhengting grit his teeth and dug his fingers into the ground. He flipped up, slicing the skin on his neck wide open as he grazed by Xukun’s knife. Xukun was kicked back, and as he stumbled, Zhengting spun around and kicked him across the face so solidly that he fell back enough for Zhengting to straddle him.

With blood still running down his neck and into his shirt, Zhengting bent over Xukun, his own knife pressing against Xukun’s Adam’s apple. His breath was very shaky.

Xukun’s wasn’t. He looked up at Zhengting through the suffocating silence all around him, taking in his face and neck and the blood dripping down onto him. Then, very gently, he tapped the ground beside him.

“Match end!” Yixing called. “Winner: Zhu Zhengting!”

The crowd erupted.

“What the fuck did I just see?”

“Did _Cai Xukun_ just get defeated?”

“What the fuck _is_ Zhu Zhengting?”

Zhengting still had his knife pressed against Xukun’s throat. His muscles were frozen stiff as he peered down at Xukun’s face. 

“How the fuck do you not flinch at all when Cai Xukun or Zhu Zhengting has a knife at your neck? What the hell is that?”

Xukun peered up at him, one of his hands slowly coming up to Zhengting’s arm to gently push it down again. Zhengting dropped the knife.

Xukun dropped his hand. “You’re bleeding.”

Zhengting nodded.

“Come on then.” Xukun pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Medical center.” He climbed to his feet and extended a hand, as if he wanted to guide him, before dropping it a second later. 

Zhengting followed him, aware of the burning stares on his back, his neck bleeding red and smearing into his shirt. 

He was _strong_.

***

“Xukun,” Zhengting whispered that night, after Xukun had come down to his bed. The nightmares had been particularly horrid that night, and Zhengting’s arms were still shaking. “Can I ask you something?”

Xukun shifted so that Zhengting’s head was nestled in the crook of his arm more comfortably. “Shoot.”

“Why did you ask me to fight today?” Zhengting touched the bandages on his neck with one hand. Mubo had been the one to patch it up, all the while cursing out Xukun for actually cutting Zhengting during a duel. 

Xukun turned on his side so that he was facing Zhengting. “So you can show the rest of them who to look out for.”

_He’s honest at least_. “But… don’t you think… people are going to hate me?” Zhengting ventured, his voice wavering lightly. “Won’t some of them despise me for being able to survive past evaluations?”

Xukun was silent for a long time, and when he finally moved again, it was to touch his own fingers to Zhengting’s neck. His hands brushed past where he had cut Zhengting’s throat-- the gentlest pair of hands to ever touch him there--, but even in the darkness, Zhengting could see how cold his eyes suddenly became.

“It’s kill or be killed, Zhengting. People die so that we can survive.”

***

Zhengting passed.

In fact, he didn’t just pass.

After he was finished with the three days of testing, events ranging from shooting to fighting to combat to manipulation, he was pulled aside by Yixing into a windowless room.

Xukun was there too, nodding at Zhengting ever so slightly when he came in. His expression was hard, but it softened at the sight of him, almost like a congratulation.

“You two finished as the top agents in this year’s evaluations,” Yixing said, his voice low. He sat behind the desk in the room and scrutinized them both with careful eyes. “Congratulations.”

Zhengting nodded, something akin to elation broiling in his stomach. This was what he worked for all these months, wasn’t it?

“It’s come to my attention that you deserve special titles for this.” Yixing addressed Xukun. “Suho wants to call you the King.”

Xukun’s face didn’t move.

“And Zhengting.” Yixing turned to him, fixing his piercing stare into Zhengting. Zhengting struggled to not break under his gaze. “The Ace.”

_The Ace._

Later, Zhengting will roll the title around in his mouth, saying it over and over again until the letters come apart and he doesn’t know what the word even means to him anymore. Yanchen will complain that he got a cool title, and Xingjie will scold him for complaining about something that rightfully belongs to Zhengting, and Ziyi will congratulate them both with resounding pats on the back.

Xukun will say nothing and for the first time in a while, he’ll retreat to his bed alone like he did when Zhengting first arrived and face the wall as he sleeps. Zhengting will look at his unmoving back and wonder what it’s like to be the King instead and not the Ace. He’ll go to sleep and wake up three hours later to a dream where he’s one of the dozen or so kids who didn’t make it past evaluations, and he’s the one being manhandled into a room eerily similar to the one he grew up in, a rope noose hanging from the ceiling. Xukun will sense that he’s awake, and he’ll come down as usual, and he won’t say a word as he tucks himself beside Zhengting.

But for now, all Zhengting could do was thank Yixing for his teaching, bow deeply even though he didn’t even know what the hell he was fighting for anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for all of ur comments last chapter! they really make me happy.

**Author's Note:**

> come ask me questions or just talk about anything on my [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ramenree)
> 
> come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ramenreee) to see my obsessions and talk to me about anything :)
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